


Let Your Cup Be Filled

by Silverkleptofox



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caduceus Whump, Canon-Typical Gore, Head Injury, Hurt Caduceus Clay, Hurt Mighty Nein, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury Recovery, Level 13 Characters, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Nausea, Neck injury, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Spoilers for Ep 100+, Vomiting, Whump, gen recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverkleptofox/pseuds/Silverkleptofox
Summary: Caduceus awakes to a splitting headache and all of his friends around him in a dark cavern, unconscious and bleeding out. In a desperate attempt to get everyone to safety, he neglects his own injuries. For once, his friends won't let him get away with it.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett, Caduceus Clay & The Mighty Nein, Caduceus Clay & Yasha, Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Comments: 32
Kudos: 252
Collections: Caduceus Clay Whump Collection





	Let Your Cup Be Filled

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Geek_witch_dice, Spiderninja, NimbleNoor, and Chrome for letting me bounce ideas off of them and also for their editing help in all facets. 
> 
> Basically I read all the Hurt!Caduceus fics on Ao3 and decided I needed more, so I wrote more. Characters are level 13, but this takes place sometime in the nebulous space between Travelercon and Eisellcross. The Mansion is not yet finished but teleportation is possible. 
> 
> NOTES:  
>  _Home-Brew/3.5e inspired rules apply for concussions in this fic:_
> 
> _After a concussion, a caster cannot use any spells above a cantrip until they heal from the concussion. Healing can be done through rest or Greater Restoration spell or higher. Potions do not affect concussions._
> 
> _Healing time is determined by damage and dice roll. Spell slots come back evenly over the entire healing time, so I 2-day healing time for a less severe concussion will regain spells quicker than a 5-day healing time for a more severe concussion._

_Rise, my Clay. They need you…_

The soft voice echoed in his head as Caduceus slowly came to consciousness. He sucked in a gasp when feeling suddenly returned to his body, pain he remembered blossoming across his form, and pain he did not remember joining it. He was laying on something hard and cold, stone perhaps? He blinked open his eyes with a wince. 

It was dark. His head was pounding. Memories began to return to him, piece by piece. There was a door, a long hallway, a few rooms filled with creatures, a battle, and then a room, falling, and...and… something had hit him, _hard._

There was nothing after that, until the Wildmother had whispered in his ear to wake him.

As his eyes began to adjust, he could just barely see. There was a dim light from his neck, the periapt of wound closure glowing softly beneath his shirt. He pulled it out, and Caduceus was able to make out his surroundings. Before him lay Fjord and Jester in the center of the room, unconscious. To his right was Beau, to his left was Caleb, and there was a warm presence behind him, halfway intertwined. It must be Yasha. Caduceus pushed himself up on his forearms and immediately the world spun, vertigo assaulting his consciousness in a blinding haze.

That was not a good idea…

He paused, and took a deep breath, then another. The dizziness slowed, but did not fully abate. His arms hurt to hold him upright. He let himself back down onto the ground and shifted slightly, causing even more unnoticed contusions to make themselves known all along his left side. He reached for his friend’s hand near his own. 

Yasha’s pulse was flighty, barely there beneath his fingers and beating quickly. She was definitely unconscious, and didn’t look like she was waking up anytime soon. 

Caduceus instinctively reached within himself to try and heal his friend, and found nothing. What were the words? What was the gesture? He struggled to remember, and Yasha was not in good shape. What else could he do? 

He shuffled carefully through the dark, dragging himself along, one forearm in front of the other, to where the rest of his friends lay. Perhaps Jester or Fjord was awake, or maybe someone had a potion...

Not daring to stand, he crawled over to the rest of his team to make sure they were alive. Carefully, he felt each person in the dim light for a pulse, for breath, and for injuries. Thank Melora they were all alive for now, but they were all unconscious and barely breathing. A quick search of everyone’s packs turned up only random buttons, stale pastries, and empty vials. 

That was… not good. His friends needed help, and they needed to get out of this place, and he could barely stand up, let alone give them the healing they desperately needed. He could feel his chest ache as his breaths quickened, wracking his too-tired brain for a solution. There was nothing he could do, not on his own. Nothing at all. They would all slowly die here, and he would be left alone to join them because he was _useless…_

Desperately, Caduceus called out to the Wildmother, begging for her divine intervention. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate through panic-shaken breaths, humming deep in his chest an old song from his childhood, hoping beyond hope that she could find some way to intervene. She had woken him after all, what for if not to remedy this situation? He would have to rely on faith…

Something moved within him, a faint breeze, or a ray of sun, the whiff of rain from the east. He felt a moment of clarity; and the words came to his mind. The verbal components of _Cure Wounds_ . It wasn’t much, but it was something. He took another breath to calm himself, and to _think_. He had one spell to use, and he would need to use it wisely. Yasha was strong, but she was bleeding out, and there was no way they could get everyone else somewhere safe between them. Jester could call for help, but who knew how long it would take for help to arrive, and Caduceus doubted she had enough spells left to heal everyone into fighting shape. Beau’s talents lay elsewhere, and Caleb…

Caleb could get them to safety, if he had a spell slot left. 

But there was a very real chance that at least one of his friends would die if Caleb had to rest to regain magical power, first. 

He would have to risk it. Hopefully there was enough in this small gift to save them all. Caduceus reached forward and whispered the phrase that had entered his mind, and let the small bit of light from the Wildmother flow from his hand, sending the tiny amount of healing light into the redheaded wizard crumpled at his side.

Caleb shifted and groaned, blinking as he sat, and Caduceus nearly sobbed with relief.

“Mr. Clay? What is going on?” Caleb groaned, his accent thick with exhaustion as he carefully pushed himself up from the stone floor.

“I’m not sure myself, but uh….we need to get somewhere safe… really soon.” Caduceus whispered, giving Caleb room to sit up. “I’m not… I don’t remember how... how we got here.”

“You fell and hit your head a while ago.” Caleb replied quietly.. “Yasha carried you.” 

“Well...” Caduceus cleared his throat, “that explains why I can’t remember..” 

Jester groaned off to the side. There was blood seeping slowly from a large gash on the side of her head and her breaths came short and wet.

Caleb looked around “I will get to work putting up the dome. Then we can rest and heal up”

Caduceus shook his head. “No, don’t… I need supplies, and light. We need to go.”

“ _Ja_ , then where to. Yussa’s?” Caleb asked.

Caduceus grimaced. “Can we… can you get us home?” 

“ _Ja_ , okay. Xhorhaus. That I can do. Good thing I grabbed a bit of wool from the rug downstairs, eh?” Caleb chuckled, dusting his hands in an attempt to keep his mind focused on what he had to do. “I need to be able to see everyone, and they need to be close to me, say about ten feet or less, so first we will get everyone closer. Okay?”

Caduceus nodded, and then immediately clutched at his head, the ache and dizziness returning the more he moved. That was definitely a concussion, judging by previous experience. Luckily the worst of it hadn’t set in yet, he could still function enough to do what needed to be done, for now. He’d have to be careful not to move too quickly, or fall asleep too soon.It would be so much worse when he woke up again. But Jester could take care of it once she rested, and it would heal on its own anyway… eventually. 

Okay, he could do this. Caduceus slowly rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff, and took a moment to gain his balance before looking up. Time to get to work. This at least, he could do. He could help. 

First, he dragged a half-conscious Beauregard toward the prone Aasimar, as she was nearest. Veth had been beneath the monk, blood from her nose staining Beau’s robes. Her small frame was easy enough to move with one arm. Then he carefully lifted Jester, minding her neck and head, even as it made his shoulder burn with the effort. He settled her gently on her side between Yasha and Beau. Caleb stepped closer to the growing pile of unconscious warriors, readying his components, and Caduceus limped over to Fjord.

_Crack._

He wasn’t sure if that was the sound of the false stone he had stepped on breaking, or the sound of his knee twisting as his foot plunged into the trap, but considering the pain shooting up his leg it was probably both.

With a panicked glance, Caleb ran forward to Fjord’s still form and grabbed an arm. Caduceus forgot the pain in his leg and sprang over, rushing to get closer, but his knee gave out from under him and he crashed to the stone floor.

That’s when the walls opened, and green mist filled the chamber. Realizing the danger immediately from the smell, Caleb shouted “Poison! Don’t breathe!” before trying to cough out the small bit he had inhaled. The seconds it took the scrawny wizard to drag a half-conscious Fjord seemed like an eternity. He could see the poison mist filling the chamber, could feel it burning the delicate flesh of his rhinarium. Caleb furiously fiddled with the scrap of wool as quickly as possible before his breath ran out. Caduceus pulled himself back and attempted to shield the others from the deadly gas with his own body, crouching over the pile of unconscious teammates and covering them with his long silk sleeve. 

Caleb muttered the last line of the conjuration through gasping breaths, and suddenly the purple light of transport flared into the room just as the wizard collapsed. 

Gasping in the dark stillness of the Xhorhaus entryway, Caduceus collapsed on the thick woven rug of the entryway in their home, and thanked the Wildmother for getting them all back to safety. 

Now it was up to him to make sure they made it through the night. He took a moment to steel himself, to push his own pain and anxiety down deep within his chest, and let the adrenaline flood his mind. There was still work to be done, and he would not be digging anyone’s grave this night. 

With a quick cantrip of Light on the ceiling, he quickly took stock of his companions. They were all still unconscious, between their injuries and the poison gas that _his_ mistake had exposed them to. _Spare the Dying_ flew from his lips, over and over, a well-practiced cantrip even _he_ could not forget, just to give him more time when each second was precious. 

Beauregard wouldn’t have been affected by the gas at least, but the bruises across her body were very concerning, as was her left wrist. A quick glance confirmed it was broken, considering there was a suspiciously familiar crossbow bolt shot through the bones of the forearm. 

Yasha had many open wounds on her arms, deep bites weeping blood, and a large but shallow gash at her side, among many bruises and patches of burned skin along her back. But she was breathing evenly, and it was likely she was simply exhausted from blood loss and the effects of using her large blade.

There was a dusting of blackness on Fjord’s forearms- dead flesh, and cold water. Frostbite, it seemed. Where had they encountered anything with _Frost_ magic? Had it been a monster or a trap? Caduceus scowled at the gaps in his memory. If he hadn’t been knocked out, he would know exactly what to treat for already. Perhaps half of these wounds could have been avoided, like the deep stab wound he saw through Fjord’s shoulder, half-healed under the puncture in his armor. Jester must have worked on it while Caduceus was unconscious. It still bled from both sides, but the muscles and bone beneath had reformed at least. A few smaller gashes littered his arms, and another crossbow bolt stuck out from his hip.

Speaking of Jester, her head was covered in blood from a gash between her horns, which was not a good sign. The low rattle in her breathing pointed to other issues, and Caduceus gently felt at her torso to find broken ribs. He listened closely and felt at her chest, gentle but firm. If there was a punctured lung, she was going to need more healing than he could offer until he rested. Hopefully Jester still had a few spells left for the day…

Hopefully she would wake up to use them. 

Veth, beside her, seemed stable enough. She was covered in blood and ichor, bruises and scrapes, and a few of her fingers were broken, and it seemed her nose was as well, but she was mostly bruised. She would be fine with some rest and a bath.

There was a large gash in Caleb’s lower leg, and the bleeding had probably caused him to pass out initially, but it seemed shallow enough to miss any arteries. He was covered in bruises and ash, and there was a large bite mark on his shoulder. Caleb was breathing, now that they were somewhere safe and away from the poison gas that he had _stupidly_ set off. He cursed his own lack of experience, and his mind that seemed to be able to see everything yet understand so little. If only he had thought to feel around for traps! By the Gods, if Caleb had gone down and been unable to finish the teleportation spell, they would _all_ be _dead._

And it would be Caduceus’ fault…

If he had never even woken up...

He grit his teeth and moved forward. There were more important things at the moment than where his mind would like to take him; than the what-ifs and could-have-beens. What happened was over, and he had friends to heal. 

Quickly prioritizing the worst of his friends’ wounds, Caduceus rifled through his pack for supplies. He pulled out bandages, his kettle, his herbs and poultices, and a sewing kit, and grabbed his staff to limp to the nearby kitchen for a bucket of water and a stack of clean rags. 

First was Jester. A clean rag in the bucket washed the gore from her head to expose the wound that marred her scalp. He sighed in relief, realizing it was mostly superficial bleeding, and if her unconsciousness was due to a concussion, it was elsewhere. There was no shattering in her skull, and while her neck was stiff and swollen, it wasn’t broken. There it was- a bump on the back of her head, between the horns. He grabbed Jester’s satchel and his own and set them on either side of her head to keep her still when she roused. Her ribs were definitely broken, but there was precious little he could do about that other than support her torso and keep her still. He gently repositioned her muscular blue frame to lie flat and straight, and lifted her legs to place Yasha’s pack under them. It would at least help her breathe. Next came stitches for her head wound and a bandage to keep it clean. He removed his thick gloves to better handle the tiny needle. A flick of a match over a candle and a bit of thaumaturgy had one of his stitching needles sterilized, and he went to work, making small, neat stitches in the blue flesh of Jester’s hairline. At least if the scar was small, it could be healed, instead of marring her pretty face. Jester would never admit her own vanity, but she would be none too pleased with a mark on her forehead.

Also, the Ruby of the Sea would tan his hide alive. 

Satisfied that Jester was as stable as he could provide at the moment, Caduceus moved on to the next priority: frostbite. 

He fetched two low, wide bowls out of the entryway cabinet and filled them with water, then used thaumaturgy on the candle to barely warm them before laying each shallow container next to Fjord. Caduceus managed to keep his hands from shaking through pure compartmentalization and the adrenaline running through his veins. If he could ignore the entirety of the world around him to commune with the Wildmother, he could ignore his own wounds and panic until everyone else was okay; the most important thing was making sure everyone survived. He gently positioned Fjord’s blackened arms in the tepid water. If this was going to heal later, the flesh needed to be rewarmed, but not so quickly that it shocked him. 

Next, he filled his hand with a wad of bandages and braced it against the bolt sticking out from his lower torso, ready to pack the wound and apply pressure as soon as the bolt came free. It was lodged in muscle, near the edge of the hip, and away from internal organs. Caduceus said a quick prayer of thanks to the Wildmother for that: sepsis was incredibly dangerous and difficult to treat without magic. He twisted the bolt free and pressed into the wound, stemming the blood flow and wrapping the cotton into place with his other hand. He then maneuvered Fjord’s armor halfway open to reach the still-bleeding shoulder wound. A fresh cloth, a new needle, and a minute later, the front was stitched. He struggled to lift the dead weight of Fjord’s torso enough to access the backside of the wound without disturbing his soaking arms, but with enough jostling he managed to clean and stitch it up, and wrap the whole shoulder in fresh bandages. He packed a bit of extra padding on the back to cushion the wound as he lay Fjord back down. The steady rise and fall of Fjord’s chest pressed up against his own was a small comfort. He would hurt when he woke up, but at least Caduceus was relatively sure that he _would_ wake.

The cleric groaned at the dull ache in his spine as he shifted out from behind Fjord and across the entryway to Yasha’s still form, inwardly glad that no one was awake to hear him. He pulled the bucket of clean water and the stack of rags to where she lay face-down on her side. Into the cool water a rag went, and then gently onto the red, welting burns along her upper shoulders, both to clean the wounds and to gently cool the inflamed flesh. Yasha stirred under the soft cool touch, her eyelids fluttering as Caduceus placed another damp rag over her shoulder blade. Her shoulder muscles started to tense, and a vein around her temple started to visibly pulse. Caduceus recognized the telltale signs of the barbarian going into a rage. 

“Shhhh…” he muttered softly. “Stay asleep. I’m going to have to stitch up your side, and uh... you won’t want to be awake for that. Sleep until I’m done.” He carefully stretched his long fuzzy fingers into the matted locks at her scalp and softly stroked her hairline, hoping to lull Yasha back into a deeper state of unconsciousness before making an attempt at her side wound with the needle. 

Luckily, between his low soothing voice and taking time to carefully clean and wrap the bite wounds on her arms- too small and close together to stitch but too deep to leave alone - Yasha was breathing slowly and deeply by the time Caduceus had sterilized and threaded his third needle. The gash in Yasha’s side took three pieces of thread to stitch, and the firbolg had to pause twice to still his shaking and blink away the dizziness from his eyes, but the wound was closed and bandaged eventually.

He shuffled over to Caleb without bothering to stand. The slash in the wizard’s leg had mostly stopped bleeding, and the frayed edges of his pants were clotting in the blood and sticking to the wound. Normally Caduceus would remove the entire set of trousers to wrap the wound, but Caleb was a special case- stripping him bare while unconscious would make him very uncomfortable when he woke. So Caduceus took a small kitchen knife from his pack and carefully cut the damaged trouser leg up near the middle of Caleb’s thigh, a few inches above the top of the wound. One wet rag after another, he soaked the dried blood and torn fabric away from the tender skin, lifting and peeling and separating the clothing from the wound without aggravating the freshly-scabbed flesh. He worked slowly, one ear tuned to Caleb’s face, listening for any sign of pain or distress from the sleeping wizard. When it was finally free, he carefully slipped the damaged pant leg off of Caleb, and set about cleaning the rest of the ash and grime from the leg before setting another needle to work and wrapping the stitched wound tightly. 

He moved to Caleb’s arms and face, wiping away more ash and dried blood, finding which spots were dirt and which spots were bruises. He started cataloguing what herbs and remedies he would need to blend. Willow bark tea for pain, arnica for bruises, aloe for burns, honey for wounds that had gotten too dirty...

Satisfied that no one was going to bleed out immediately, Caduceus went into the kitchen for more fresh water. Stumbling slowly to his feet, he held himself up with one hand on the wall until he reached the water pump. He leaned against the counter for a minute, taking the moment of necessary stillness while the bucket filled to catalogue what else needed to be done. His arms were shaking under the barely-there weight of his thin frame against the counter, and he could feel his tail droop with exhaustion to brush the floor. But the bucket was full, and there was work still to do. 

For a brief moment, he longed for the solitude of the Blooming Grove; where the only responsibilities were to himself and to the dead; most anything could wait until he was ready to deal with it. The dead were patient, and Caduceus was adept at ignoring his own needs. 

He shook the thought from his mind as he walked to the wood pile to select some splints. Having someone to care for other than himself was a good thing, having someone else to cook for reminded him that he also needed to eat. Occasional exhaustion was better than the bone-deep loneliness and unshakeable depression that had kept him chained to his bed for weeks back at the Grove, unable to muster anything more than sleep and a dazed fugue, slowly rotting away like so much leaf litter. 

He pulled the handle of the wooden bucket and hauled it back to the entryway.

Thankfully everyone was still unconscious, because setting breaks while awake was extremely unpleasant. 

Yet worry crawled up into his throat seeing his friends remain so still.

Caduceus leaned down to the floor to brace himself on his good arm as he folded his legs back to the floor next to Beau. Her wrist was badly swollen and bruised, and lay at an odd angle where she held it close to her chest. He coaxed it from her protective grip, and held the delicate bones within the strong forearm of his monk friend. He felt around the break, around the puncture through the flesh and tensions between the bones, discerning where the fracture had happened and where everything now lay beneath her skin. 

Carefully, he coaxed the bolt through the hole it had made, forcing it to exit fully from the other side. He grasped her forearm firmly, ignoring the weeping blood for a moment, and set the bones back in place with a decisive tug. 

He watched Beau’s face for a reaction, trying to gauge how close she was to waking. An audible wince hit his ears as Beau’s scarred eyebrows knitted together. An hour more, he thought, maybe less for the strong-willed monk. Caduceus held the wound firmly in one hand and selected two slivers of wood from the pile he had brought with the other; eyeballing the correct length. He cleaned the blood and packed the wound, and set a splint on each side, and one on the palm for good measure to stop Beau from bending her wrist, before starting to bandage the joint and wrap the splints into place. 

He took Beau’s strong hand in his large ones and carefully repositioned it back against her chest, allowing her to curl protectively around the injury in a natural way. With a freshly wetted rag, he wiped the dirt and grime away from her many bruises and sores, and let a few wet rags rest on some of the darker splotches. It wasn’t as good as ice, and certainly not as good as a healing spell, but it would dull the pain until he could grind up a poultice to help the contusions heal. 

Comfort was just as necessary for recovery as anything else. His Aunt Corrin had taught him that, caring for grieving families burying their loved ones. Worry, pain, and stress would only eat away at the spirit and keep the body from healing. He missed her, probably more so than the rest of his family. Corrin had always seemed to understand him, even with all of his… eccentricities. They were kindred spirits in their oddity.

He sighed at the memory, and took stock of the process. There was only one more friend to tend to before he could stop to prepare medicine: Veth. Caduceus gently took a rag and some water to clean the gore and ichor from her brown skin, cataloguing hidden injuries as residual blood was washed away. She would appreciate not having to take an _entire_ bath,when she woke.

She was the least injured of the lot, which was odd considering she was also unconscious. Her delicate halfling fingers were broken on her left hand, probably from misfiring her crossbow while loading. Apart from a few scrapes and a broken nose, she was otherwise fine. 

Perhaps there was something internal, he thought, a twinge of panic spitting him on. Had she been bleeding out on the inside this entire time!? He quickly felt around his friend’s small body, searching intently for any sign of broken ribs, stilted breathing, cold limbs… ah! There it was. At the center back of her skull was a swollen bump. She must have hit her head at the same time something broke her nose. Mystery solved. 

With a relieved sigh, the cleric gently set and splinted her fingers, and cracked the cartilage of her nose back into place. Figuring that a wet rag on her face would do more harm than good when she woke, despite the comfort the cold water would bring, he settled for wiping it clean and leaving it bare. 

With everyone nearly cleaned and bandaged, Caduceus set out his bundles of herbs and mortar and went to work grinding some small dried daisy-like flowers with a bit of water from the bucket to create a poultice that would help with bruising. He allowed himself a moment to breathe while mashing the plant matter into a small bowl, despite how much it hurt. He steeled himself to hold the air in his lungs for a second before letting it go. 

His hands were starting to shake. 

Caduceus pressed his fingers firmly on either side of the stone bowl to still them and forced himself to his feet. The world swayed, threatening to tip him over, so he closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to ground himself and convince his brain that no, the world was not in fact spinning. Eventually, he opened his eyes and made his way to each of his friends, slathering the arnica on their blossoming bruises as they slept, and double-checking their pulse and breathing until he was satisfied that no one was in immediate danger.

Content in his friends’ stability for the next five minutes, he let out a resigned sigh, grabbing his kettle and teacups and a pouch of willow bark to take to the kitchen. 

Walking was becoming more of a challenge. Between his own vertigo and his bad knee, made worse by twisting it in a trap, each step was its own hurdle. Caduceus steadied himself against the wall, pushing himself up toward each step with his good leg before following it with the bad one. In the back of his mind, he was glad no one would see him struggling with something so simple as a walk to the kitchen. Just as quickly, he banished the guilty thought from his mind. His friends were not Colton, they would not mock him for his weakness, they would not brush him aside for being unable to contribute. He was useful, here with them. His own potential embarrassment didn’t matter, not as much as the welfare of the others. He would boil the water, make the willow bark tissane, and he would find some way back to make sure everyone drank it, even if he had to pour the bitter tea down their throats himself. It would help with the pain and swelling if they woke up, and help neutralize any remaining poison they hadn’t already shaken.

He reached the kitchen door and took a moment to rest his head against the frame. He almost didn’t realize how dizzy he was until suddenly he was against something solid. The adrenaline was wearing off, it seemed. The desperate need to make sure everyone else was okay had been sated, and suddenly his own injuries were begging for attention. 

Still, he had to finish his work. He couldn’t rest until he was done, because once he woke again, there was no guarantee he would be able to stand, let alone in his right mind to stand sentinel at death’s door for his friends. Caduceus pushed himself away from the wall with shaking hands and a deep groan, and plodded methodically forward.

He fumbled in the dark for the matches kept in the drawer before lighting the stove and placing the kettle atop the flames. A quick cantrip set the flames higher, and the exhausted cleric flopped into a chair at the small kitchen table to sort his herbs. 

He set the dried willow bark in the pot, ready to steep, and sprinkled some springs of kava and chamomile in a cup to still the shake in his hands and legs for the next few hours at least. He would have to sip carefully around the leaves, but it was easier than making an entire second pot of tea. It would take a while for the kettle to whistle, with how much water was in it and the flames just starting. Until then, Caduceus allowed himself to wait, and clear his mind before diving into the next tasks. 

Elbows on the table, he leaned his forehead into his hands and _gods_ did the simple feeling of something solid against his skull help, a grounding presence to still the world around him and make his brain stop trying to tumble out is his mouth. 

That was… not a good sign. The nausea had started, then. But it was also something he couldn’t fix at the moment, so he shoved that concern to the back of the pile. 

He let his arms fold and let his head fall onto them, pillowing his forehead on the blood-matted fur. 

Everyone would need the willow bark tissane, and a few of the less-serious wounds could probably use a damp cloth steeped in the leftovers once they cooled. He could grab some on the way back out...

His thoughts spiraled away as exhaustion took over. He would only rest for a minute. 

The light filtering in the window from the tree above was starting to hurt his eyes, after all. More so than usual. It wouldn’t hurt to close them. 

Just until the kettle whistled. 

It would rouse him soon, he wouldn’t even have time to fall asleep. 

Just a moment… 

—————

There was some sort of noise. Shrill, piercing, and high, like a really awful flute. It pounded through her brain, an assault on her senses. Why wasn’t it going away? She just wanted to sleep! Gods, her head hurt, why wouldn’t it just stop? 

Beau groaned as she opened her eyes, the high shriek still sounding from what felt like the other room. Without moving, she looked around. A rug beneath her, a globe of light on the ceiling, purple wood floors… She was in the Xhorhaus. Okay, that was at least somewhat safe. 

She dared to sit up and look about further. She saw the still forms of her comrades around her, bandaged but breathing. Everyone seemed to be alright for the moment. One, two, three… five bodies lay around her. 

One body missing, and a high pitched sound from the kitchen… Beau connected the dots. Caduceus had patched them up and was making tea. At least… he would have been… but why was he letting the kettle keep whistling? Had he gone somewhere else?

She tucked her throbbing wrist to her chest and rolled to the other side, using her knees and good arm to push herself up slowly. A wave of lightheadedness rocked her for a moment, her head pounding along with her pulse, but she took a deep breath and found her center. She must have lost too much blood...

She crept into the kitchen, wary of what may lie beyond the door that prevented their Firbolg from his tea. An enemy perhaps? She peeked beyond the threshold.

No enemies in sight, nothing out of the ordinary. 

The kettle rattled on the stove, steam jutting from the spout cover and screaming high and shrill. Caduceus sat at the small kitchen table, his giant form hunched to rest his head on blood-covered arms, his ears pinned back flat against his skull and his tail unmoving. If not for the rise and fall of his armor over his skinny ribs, Beau would have assumed the worst. 

She walked to the stove and removed the kettle from the coals, silencing the piercing screech of the steam and giving her ears some much-needed relief. She brought it to the table and set it down, and saw the teapot filled with some sort of dried, curling, paper-like substance, and a lone cup with small flowers and springs. 

Beau moved the cup away from her friend, just in case, and gently tapped him on the shoulder. 

Caduceus did not respond. 

She shoved a little harder, then placed the fingers of her good hands against his neck to feel for a pulse. Okay, that was steady at least. Caduceus’ ear flicked forward once, then twice…

“Hey Deucey, you with me?”

The firbolg’s voice tumbled deep in his chest as his eyelashes fluttered. His eyes cracked open, revealing deep pink surrounded by veins of exhausted red, one surprisingly much darker than the other, near-black with how wide the pupil had grown.

“Beau..? Where…” he mumbled for a minute, still waking fully. Then his eyes cleared as he started looking the monk up and down, his hands reaching for her forehead, her pulse, checking her over in a sudden flurry of movement. “Are you alright? Let me… how are you feeling? Are you dizzy at all? How’s…mmfh...” he winced as he pushed his head down into his hands, clutching tightly to his scalp as if it would somehow hold him together. 

“Caduceus.” She cut him off, “I’m ok, first of all. The others are…”

At those words, Cad was suddenly alert again, filled with panic and pushing Beau aside to scramble out to the entryway. However, his sense of balance had deteriorated after taking a minute to rest, and he careened shoulder-first into the doorframe with a cry of pain, and tumbled forward to the floor. 

Beau caught his arm just before his knees hit the wooden planks, and hauled him back to his feet, not letting go. 

Caduceus was hissed through his teeth, his left arm twitching with held tension below the shoulder he had just inadvertently abused, “Please, I have to make sure... the poison… I didn’t mean to fall asleep. If the poison…”

“They’re okay.” Beau said firmly. “I checked, every single one of them, as soon as I realized it was safe to get up. They’re alive. They’ll be fine for another couple of minutes. Now go sit back down.” 

Caduceus shook his head, then listed to the side. “No, I’m… I’m not done yet. There’s an herb... a medicine, it will help. That's why… the kettle. I was going to make the medicine, but it was taking so long to boil…” 

She patted the blood-crusted fur on Caduceus’ arm and slowly led him, limping, back to the table. “Okay, okay. I’ll boil some more water, you get your stuff ready, and then I’ll help you get over there, yeah? Just… don’t try to go running anywhere, Cad. You look like hell.” 

The cleric nodded as he sat back at the table, his herbs already sorted and ready. Beau poured the heated water into his cup, and pushed it into Caduceus’ reach. His hands still shook, so he grasped the tiny cup with both palms and bent his neck to the cup before tilting it, trying not to spill any down his shirt. Beau set the still-warm kettle back on the coals and soon the water was boiling again. 

She took the kettle with her good arm and Caduceus gestured at the ceramic teapot that was already filled with dried bark. Beau poured the water and Caduceus took the teapot, and they leaned on each other until they were back on the now-bloody rug with all their sleeping friends. 

One by one, he gently coaxed his friends to sip at the freshly-cooled tisane, setting the cup to their lips and pouring gently until they swallowed. It would negate the effects of any remaining poison, and dull the pain of their aches and wounds. 

As Caduceus tipped the last cup to Fjord’s bottom lip, minding the tusks, the half-orc sputtered and gasped for air in the Firbolg’s arms. His yellow eyes flew open in a panic, until they settled on his friend above him. 

“Ah, sorry about that.” Caduceus said slowly. “I had forgotten your uh… your _history_ with liquid...while sleeping. It’s medicine, it will help with the pain.” He pressed the cup to Fjord’s lip again, waiting for him to calm down and drink of his own volition. 

Fjord grimaced at the taste of the bitter tonic, but drank the whole cup. “What’s going on?” He sputtered.

“Remember the ghost?” Beau asked from beside them. “It got to all of us. Somehow we got back here and Cad has been making sure no one died.” 

Caduceus tilted his head, his ears flicking forward. “Ghost?”

Fjord nodded. “Yeah, after you fell down the chasm, Jester used _Dimension Door_ to bring you back to us, but you were already unconscious, and we had to keep going. Yasha carried you. We were on our way out and suddenly Jester attacked Fjord. Yasha managed to knock her out but then _she_ went bonkers and went after Caleb.”

Beau nodded. “Then Caleb burned Yasha, and she went down, and Caleb came after _me,_ but Fjord commanded him to sleep and it worked. We thought we were done, but _nope_ . Veth sniped us from the shadows. I finally found her, and she _shot_ me, and I tried to catch it but…” she lifted her left wrist, where Caduceus had pulled the crossbow bolt from her flesh. “I punched her in the face, and then I think I passed out.” 

“Well…” Caduceus said slowly, as he made his way to the nearby wall, “...that certainly uh.... That certainly explains a lot. I was wondering where the... _variety_ of injuries had come from.” He leaned his back heavily against the wooden paneling. 

Caleb stirred over on the rug, and Beau stepped over her friends to help him up. 

“What about you?” Fjord asked, his hands glowing lightly as the blackened frozen flesh on his arms knit together to leave shiny green new skin. “How did you get us all back here?” 

“Mmmmmmm.” The cleric moaned deeply as he slid down the wall, favoring his left leg, to slump against the floor. “The Wildmother whispered to me, so... I woke up. But I couldn’t cast anything.” He grimaced.

Beau tilted her head in confusion as she pulled Caleb to his feet. “Nothing at all? That’s really strange, you barely cast anything before you fell.” 

“You cannot cast spells after a concussion.” Caleb yawned. “It is known among wizards. Well… among _some_ wizards,” he said sourly. “Only cantrips, things you have practiced so often you can do them in your sleep. Most anything you have to study for the day, it is, ehhh, _lost_ , if you take too much damage here.” He tapped his forehead for emphasis. 

“That’s… that’s interesting,” Caduceus replied. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “I prayed for Divine Intervention, and She… She listened. Just a moment, I was uh… I could think. Properly. Just enough for _Cure Wounds_. That’s how I woke you,” he nodded to Caleb, “ And then you got us home.” 

“And you have patched everyone up except yourself, Mr. Clay.” Caleb mused, gesturing to Caduceus’ blood-covered hands and clothing. 

Caduceus chuckled, “Yes, well, I just finished that. I had to… making sure you all live through the night is a bit more uh…. _important_ than a headache and a twisted knee.” He peered through his eyelashes at Caleb in that just-barely judgemental way he sometimes let slip when he was trying to make a point. 

Fjord shuffled forward to kneel before the Firbolg. “I’ve only got a little bit of healing left, but you don’t look so good, Deuces.” He reaches forward toward Caduceus’ shaven head, but the cleric caught his hand before it could make contact. 

“Give it to Jester.” He said softly, wrapping Fjord’s fingers in his own.

“Dude, you’re hurt!” Beau balked.

He shook his head, and again a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome him. “Yeah...but I’m awake, and ...these… I’ll heal with time.” He gestured limply to his leg, sprawled out over the wooden floor, “Jester needs it more. I’ve done all I can for her, but... if she’s… if there’s something I couldn’t see, if I… if I missed something… I’d be more comfortable knowing she was alright.” 

“Yeah, yeah okay, ” Beau sighed, “at least let us take a look at you, ok? That was a nasty fall and you’ve been limping all night.” 

Caduceus locked eyes with Fjord, the intensity of the paladin’s amber gaze focused with worry between his two friends, and sighed. “Once she’s… when she’s okay, you can worry about me... if you really… if you feel you need to.” He let his eyes drift closed and leaned his head against the paneled wall. 

Fjord nodded, and stepped gingerly over to the tiefling girl. The green glow poured into her chest and her skull, gently knitting flesh and bone. Jester took a deep breath and groaned lightly in her sleep, the lines on her face easing as some of the tension left her frame. She murmured something and turned over, curling up on her side, her tail flicking in her sleep. 

“She’s gonna be just fine, Deuces.” Fjord said quietly as he smoothed Jester’s blue curls. He checked over Yasha and Nott as well, just to be sure, before walking back to where Beau was still hovering over the Firbolg. “We’re all going to be just fine, okay? _Everyone_ is okay. Now please let someone take a look at you.”

“Yeah, Deuces. You’re covered in blood. Is any of it yours?” Beau squatted down next to him and picked at the crusty fur on his arms. “Why haven’t you washed this off yet?”

Caduceus turned his forearm over in her grip, as if just now truly noticing the matted and sticky state of the blood clotted in his fur. His nose wrinkled at the sight and he sighed, “It’s easy to uh… wipe blood away, from… skin... with a cloth and water. Fur, though… it’ll take a good soaking to get it out, you see, and I…hmmmm...” he chuckled low in his chest, “... I don’t trust myself in water right now.” He smirked, tapping the side of his head with his other hand. “But it’s only... It’s not a big deal. It can wait until…” he trailed off, appearing to be thinking for a moment, but then his gaze unfocused and he blinked. “What was I saying?” 

“No more waiting. We made a deal.” Fjord said as he offered one bandaged arm to help Caduceus to his feet. With a resigned sigh, he took Fjord’s hand. Fjord pulled him upward with more force than he was expecting, throwing him off-balance. He stepped forward to try to catch himself and...

_Crack._

_“Fy Faen!”_ Caduceus let out a curse in Jötun as the much-abused joint in his left knee finally gave, sending himself careening forward in a haze of pain. The world around him faded into darkness, dim light and stone and the acrid scent of poison filled his lungs. He could feel Fjord go limp in his arms, could see Caleb collapse to the floor, his teleport spell fizzling out on his fingertips. They were all laying around him, gasping desperately for air, and getting only deathly gas. He could feel his own lungs closing, spasming in his chest as his limbs folded beneath him, only able to watch as his friends ceased breathing around him. In the distance, he could see a shock of pink hair with blue streaks, a grey braided mane, a rose-furred tail… 

Fjord stumbled sideways to try and catch his tall friend, and managed to just barely keep his pink-maned skull from colliding with the floor. 

“Whoa there, big guy. You ok?” 

Caduceus did not respond. Worried, all three of his friends came closer to investigate. 

“Cad?” Beau whispered, kneeling next to his prone form. Caduceus’ eyes were wide and unfocused, and he was trembling. “Uh…. Cad? You with us?”

Caleb knelt next to her and carefully pushed the faded pink locks away from his friend’s face to see what was going on without touching his face. He noticed the distant stare and staggered breathing immediately. “Let him down, Fjord. Slowly.” He commanded softly, “Try not to touch him for now, just in case.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Fjord gently lowered Caduceus so that he was laying on his side, and knelt to join the others, his hands ghosting nervously over his friend. “He looks like…” 

“Ja, he looks like me, when I go… somewhere else.” Caleb nodded. “But this is ehhh, not quite the same, you could say. It could be, but there is no way to know whether _Herr_ Clay is having a… ehh… a panic attack, I think you would call it? Or something else, like how… how I sometimes…when the memories… _ja_ , I think I know what caused this.” 

Beau noticed Caduceus’ breathing pick up, quicker and quicker in pace until he was trembling, wide-eyed, staring into the dim light of nothing in the dining room. “What happened?” She could hear a low rattle in his throat, as if each breath was causing him pain. 

Caleb shifted, fiddling with his coat. “As we were dragging everyone together to teleport, he stepped in a trap. It twisted his knee, but it also set off a poison gas. I do not remember what happened after that, because I passed out, but it appears my spell was successful at least. But I imagine he would have been alone for a bit in that cavern, with everyone unconscious and the poison filling the room...” 

Fjord rubbed his temples, the pieces of understanding falling into place as he listened to Caduceus quietly gasp for air. He knew enough about his friend to know just how deeply his fear of being left alone ran, much deeper than he let on. He could put two and two together as to what such a situation would do to his mind. He longed to hold Caduceus’ trembling frame close, to keep him safe and smooth out the concerning rasping that was getting worse with every halted breath, but he waited, hovering, until Caleb said it was alright. 

“Beau, try to get him to breathe. You know how you...?” Caleb said as he shifted closer, placing a hand tentatively on Caduceus’ trembling back and feeling hard chitin under the cloth of his overcoat instead of moving flesh. He would not feel his presence. He moved his hand upward, to the base of Caduceus’ neck, where the firbolg would actually feel the pressure. 

Caduceus startled momentarily, but did not pull away from the gentle touch. His eyes widened for a moment, ever so slightly, as he barely tilted his head to press into the warm hand at the base of his skull, seeking more contact. 

“Okay, okay.” Caleb murmured. “It is okay to touch him. _Ja_ , it seems to help. It does not, for everyone…” Caleb ran his fingers up and down the base of Caduceus’ skull, hoping to try and ground his friend back in reality, where his friends were right beside him, until he beckoned Fjord forward. Fjord moved closer immediately, shifting his arms beneath Caduceus’ neck and side to pull him up, maneuvering the unresponsive cleric until he was sitting back against Fjord’s leg, his side against Fjord’s chest, his head cradled on his shoulder, with Fjord’s arms wrapped around his torso and the back of his head, gently cradling the shorn swirls of the Wildmother around one fear-flattened ear. 

“Hold him up, steady against you.” Caleb murmured, “Tightly. It will help.” Fjord nodded, he seemed a bit hesitant to be in such close physical proximity to someone else, but if it was what his friend needed, he would do what he could. Beau shifted practically into Caduceus’ lap at Fjord’s side, letting her weight settle over his good leg and taking the firbolg’s trembling hand. She pressed it to her collarbone as she breathed deeply, still softly instructing him to follow. “Breathe, Deucey. You’re okay, everyone is okay, we’re all here with you. Slowly, Deuces. In… and out….” she muttered soft words, things to remind him of where he was in reality, trying to break whatever repeating reel of horrors his mind had come up with, but he didn’t seem to hear her. 

“He’s saying something…” Fjord remarked quietly. Beau and Caleb leaned in to try and hear the whispered mutterings that barely escaped Caduceus’ lips between heaving gasps for air. 

“... not again, don’t… leave me alone… Melora please… don’t take them… I can’t… my fault… in… please… not…” Caduceus’ eyes were still wide, staring at something horrible none of them could see. Fjord held his friend tighter to his chest, as if he could squeeze away whatever vision had Caduceus’ mind in its grasp, but his strength was met only by a hard chitinous plate. 

Abruptly, Caleb shuffled to the kitchen and grabbed a cup and the kettle, warming it in his hands on the way back. He poured the cup and set the steaming liquid in Fjord’s hand, so he could hold it and let the steam rise to Caduceus’ face.

“The smell,” he explained at Fjord’s quirked eyebrow, “I can… ehhh… it can help, sometimes, to remind you of where you are. Especially when… when nothing else works?” Caleb took Caduceus’ empty hand and pressed into the joint between thumb and palm, slow repeating circles, not enough to hurt, but just enough to loosen the spamming muscles and provide a sensation that Caduceus’ mind probably couldn’t account for.

Caduceus’ eyelashes fluttered, outwardly, while inside a mix of signals flooded his mind. There was pain, all-encompassing and everywhere. His leg hurt, his shoulder hurt, his side hurt… it was a struggle to breathe, to think, to see, to hear...He tried to block everything out, but he couldn’t run from the sight before him. He could see Fjord’s lifeless corpse before him, but yet he could feel the half-orc’s chest behind him, warm and whole, and his hands firm against his scalp. He spotted Beau lying broken off to the side, yet he could feel her calloused hand pressing his own to a warm chest, slowly breathing in, pausing, and relaxing. He instinctively tried to match it, his years of meditative training taking over the baser parts of his brain. He could smell the stinging poison in his lungs, burning in his chest, stinging with every inhale… but also caught whiffs of a strong, soothing scent, chamomile and mint and lavender and steam. He could feel a gentle pressure in his palm, discordant with the rough stones he thought he should feel beneath his hand as he lay on the cold granite of the cavern.

Only one of these things could be real…

He closed his eyes, and forced everything away except that which he could feel, letting his mind drift into that space he so often traveled to when he communed with his Goddess. He had no energy to call out to her, but he had decades of practice clearing his mind, even if he could barely remember the words to Calm Emotions, this was something he knew by heart. He took in the smells, the tactile presence of everything around him, the pain coursing through his body, the fear and panic running through his veins, and the gruesome sight before him.

He took hold of everything his mind was experiencing, and with practiced intent, shut it all off. 

Fjord saw Caduceus’ eyes flutter completely shut, and felt him fall lax in his grasp. A mote of panic rose within him, fearing the worst, but Caduceus was still breathing, he could feel his heart beating beneath where his green fingers pressed against his velvet neck.

Slowly, slowly, Caduceus stopped mumbling desperate prayers to the Wildmother and started whispering something in Sylvan, some sort of mantra, repeating over and over. 

He let his senses return, slowly, one by one. First was pain, the most insistent and strongest feeling that wracked his physical body. It was all-encompassing, and unpleasant, but it was _real_. He accepted it, and moved on. He could feel warmth, a body next to his, holding him tight, something pressing his left hand to a soothing rhythm beneath warm skin, a repetitive motion soothing the joints of the right. He let go of the tension in his spine and shoulders, trusting the warm arms around him to support his weight. 

He could smell herbs, and steam… someone had made tea. 

There wasn’t a whiff of acrid death he could sense. 

One shuddering breath, too fast, then a moment, then another, ever fractionally slower, until he managed to fill his lungs fully before they contracted involuntarily. He leaned into the clawed hand scratching gently at the swirls on his scalp, ever so slightly, and his eyes cracked open, gaze still distant. The remaining tension went out from his seven-foot frame all at once, melting into Fjord’s lap as he finally took deep, controlled breaths. Beau squeezed the hand she held to her sternum, and felt the barest exhausted grip in return. 

“You back with us, Cad?” She rubbed her thumb over his velvet knuckles. His hand squeezed again, but he made no other sign of being present. “Okay,” Beau responded, “we’re responding to touch, that’s good. Can you hear me?” 

White eyelashes closed, and Caduceus faintly nodded, resting his head against Fjord’s shoulder. 

“That’s good, that’s good.” Beau continued, “You gave us a bit of a scare, there, but we’re glad you’re back with us. We’re all here, everyone is safe, and we’re going to make sure you’re okay too. Alright?” Another squeeze. “Just… let us know when you’re ready to come around, okay? Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.” He had begun to shiver, and Fjord ran his hand up and down his right arm, hesitantly at first, but with more surety as Caduceus responded favorably to the added warmth. 

Slowly, Caleb reached for the now-cooled cup of strongly-scented tea, warmed it in his hands, and wrapped Caduceus’ fingers around it. “It is good… to do something you like, ehh… something calming, familiar, when… when it is over.” Caleb steadied the cup as Caduceus carefully lifted it to his chest, curling around the warmth and taking in the aromatic notes. With a trembling hand, Caduceus raised the small cup to his lips and sipped at the warm tea, leaning against Fjord until it was done. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. 

“Hey,” he said lowly, his voice catching in his throat as his lips twisted into a small smile. 

Fjord smiled back. “Hey yourself.” 

“How are you feeling, _mein freund_?” Caleb placed one hand on his shoulder and took the empty cup from his hand and set it aside with the other. 

“Honestly? Not great.” Caduceus replied. 

“I can imagine.” Caleb chuckled, “You are exhausted _ja_ ? No energy left. And everything is sore, _on top of_ your injury from before.” 

“That’s about right.” 

“We should get you into a bath, _Herr Clay_. It will help. And you are, ehh… filthy. Still covered in blood.” Caleb gestured to the firbolg’s arms, still caked and crusty with vital fluids dried and clumping in his fur.

Caduceus raised his arm to consider it. “That’s…. Yeah, I suppose you’re right. That sounds nice. I was uh… I was going to just brush it out, once it dried. It’s easier than… well, a wet rag doesn’t work very well on fur.” He chuckled to himself and winced immediately at the movement. 

Beau made a disgusted face at the thought. “That’s nasty, dude. Sitting in other people’s blood waiting for it to dry? No, you’re taking a bath.”

“Mmm,” Caduceus hummed, “I thought about it, but… it wasn’t worth the risk. Not with, uh…. My head the way it is, right now.” 

“Is it getting worse?” Fjord asked, a worried hand ghosting absently over Caduceus’ scalp. 

Beau huffed. “Probably. I found him passed out at the kitchen table with the kettle whistling away. It woke _me_ up, and he wasn’t moving.” 

“Deuce?” Fjord’s hand jerked back from his friend’s scalp, not sure if he had been hurting him this whole time. 

Cad just hummed and tilted his head back into Fjord’s palm. “... makes it hurt less. Good distraction.”

Oh… well then. Fjord forced down the blush that was creeping up to his face and willed his shock-stilled palm to move. He wasn’t usually so… _tactile_ , as a person, but apparently Caduceus was. And they weren’t anywhere that strangers would see, and it seemed to help…

And if Fjord was being honest with himself, it was… _nice_. As long as it didn’t bother Caduceus, he figured, it didn’t have to stop.

Beau sighed, bringing Fjord’s attention back to the present as she patted Caduceus’ thigh. “Apparently, he woke up Caleb, got us home, and then spent however-long-it-took…”

“Three and a half hours, approximately, from the time he woke me until I woke again,” Caleb interjected. 

“Too fucking long...” Beau continued, remembering a few tough training sessions that left her in a similar condition, “Patching up all of us with a concussion and a twisted knee and who _knows_ what else, I heard you wheezing Cad, don’t try and hide it...” she glared at him, “While not even bothering to take off his own gods’ damn coat, let alone take care of _himself_.”

Fjord’s hand stilled in Caduceus’ hair. “Cad?” He asked softly, as the cleric in his arms turned his face inward, “Is that true?” 

“I did what was necessary.” He shrugged limply. “I’ll be fine, I just…” 

“Fuck that.” Beau snorted. “No more deflecting, dude. I’ve got one good arm and two good legs, Fjord’s pretty alright, and Caleb’s here too. You’ve collapsed twice tonight, and you just had some kind of… episode, so no, you’re not talking your way out of it.”

His ears pinned back against his neck as he looked at Beau. “Out of… what?” 

“Us. Taking care of you.” Fjord replied. 

“I… you… well…” the cleric stammered, sighing, looking for the right words before he deflated, “If you insist.” 

Caleb stood, swaying on his good leg, and dusted his hands. “ _Ja_ , we do. Insist, that is. I will go heat the bath water.” 

He felt Fjord’s grip on his frame tighten. “Is there nothing you can do?” He worried, “I’m out of healing, but… what about that stuff you use sometimes when you meditate? Would that help?” 

“Huh…” Caduceus hummed, “I… I hadn’t thought about it. It probably would, but… I don’t know how… uh… helpful I would be? If something were to go wrong…” his eyes flickered over to the unconscious forms of Jester, Yasha, and Veth.

Beau snorted. “You won’t be very helpful in your current state either, dude. You can barely stand. Just… let us help, okay? Caleb can keep an eye on the ladies for a bit. Take a break.” 

Still running on her own brand of worry that came out as spite, Beau stood and wedged herself under Caduceus’ right arm, bracing his weight against her strong shoulders as he slowly found his footing. She waited for him to stand, and took a step forward. Dazedly, he tried to follow, but on the second step his knee gave out again. 

Fjord ducked under his other arm, holding him steady at the waist. “Come on big guy. It’s not far.” Their height made them more akin to crutches than carriers, but with two strong friends taking most of his negligible weight, he managed to limp their tall friend along without too much stumbling. They made it the short trek to the bottom of the tower, and Fjord helped him out of his coat and armor while Caleb stoked the flames beneath the stone bath. Fjord peeled the gossamer wrap from around his chest, and set it to the side. Next came the wooden toggles of his silk shirt, loosening the tunic from his sash; but when Fjord tugged gently on the blood-soaked sleeves, Caduceus winced.

“Ah, it’s uh… the blood is dried, into the fur… and the shirt…” He tugged bashfully at the hem of the sleeve. “It’s better to let it soak first, or it’ll… it’ll tear. At the fur.” 

Caleb clapped his hands together, shaking the dust from his palms. “We can manage.” He smirked, “The water is ready. Just ehh… take off whatever you can? I will bring your satchel.” He stepped out of the door back into the hall.

Caduceus nodded, leaning a bit more heavily on Beau as he reached toward his boots. Fjord stepped in and batted his hands away, removing the grieves and leather boots as Caduceus worked the knot of his waist sash free. His billowing trousers fell to the floor, and his long tunic cascaded downward to his thighs. 

“Uh guys? How are we going to do this?” Beau asked, eyeing Fjord’s bandaged shoulder. “You shouldn’t get that wet, and I’ve only got one good hand.” 

“I’m fine up to here,” Fjord replied, motioning to the bandages at his hip, “So I guess I’ll stay on the edge. Are you ok except for the left arm?” Beau nodded, and let the paladin take Caduceus’ weight as she stripped down to her small clothes and stepped over the rim to hold an arm out to the cleric. 

With Beau’s help, Fjord guided their tall friend to sit on the rim and lower himself onto the first ledge in the large pool. Fjord took a moment to discard his boots and trousers, leaving his tunic to hang over his small clothes. 

He stepped in and settled onto the rim as Beau helped Caduceus sink into the low ridge beneath the water. The cleric sank down with a sigh, and Fjord reached forward slowly to steady his head between his green shins.

“Doing okay?” He whispered quietly into one long fuzzy ear. 

“Mmmm.” Caduceus replied. “Dizzy. Lightheaded.” 

Fjord ran his fingers through the long dusty pink hair, relieved when Caduceus tilted into his touch. “Head still hurts?”

Caduceus hummed an affirmation.

“Just take a moment to breathe. We’ll take care of it.” He cast his eyes to Caleb with an imploring look as the wizard returned with Caduceus’ satchel over his shoulder, toting more clean rags and a bucket of fresh cold water.

Fjord rustled through the bag until he pulled out a long thin pipe with a small cup at the end and a small bundle of dried herbs. He placed the plant matter into the bowl, and held it out for Caleb to light, gently blowing on the embers until a thin plume of smoke curled from the dried leaves. 

“Can you hold it?” He asked quietly, and Caduceus raised his hand slowly to take the pipe. His hand shook as he held it to his lips, taking a long draw before letting the fragrant smoke billow from his lips. The long pipe wavered in his trembling hand, and Fjord reached down to steady it before the hot ash could spill onto his shirt. 

“Guess not…” Caduceus chuckled. “It… it’s helping, though. With the… the headache. And the nausea.”

Fjord nodded behind him. “I’ve got it.” He took a cloth and dipped it into the bucket before leaning Caduceus’ head backward to look up at him. 

“Close your eyes. This will help.” 

Caduceus gasped lightly as Fjord settled a cold wet rag over his eyes and forehead, and let out a stuttered sigh as he leaned back into the strong legs behind him. The cooling weight provided a sensation he didn’t know he needed, stilling the vertigo in his mind and soothing the pain behind his eyes. Between that, the effects of his pipe, the solid presence keeping his head from moving, and the gentle blunted claws moving against his scalp, the pounding pressure and swirling in his head quieted enough that he could breathe without the lingering feeling of needing to vomit. He wished he could express how much he appreciated the weight that had been taken from him, but words seemed to fail him more than usual at the moment. 

“That’s nice,” he said instead with a smile. 

“Better?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then.” Fjord nodded to Beau, and the monk wiggled her eyebrows suggestively in his direction as she scooted closer to get to work. 

Fjord blushed and looked away. 

She grabbed Caduceus’ right arm and guided it just below the surface of the water to rest on her propped up knee. Already the dried blood caked into the fur and silk of the cleric’s arm was coloring the water a deep rust color. Beau threw her left arm over the edge to keep it dry and ran her right hand over Caduceus’. 

“I thought you didn’t like stuff like that, Cad.” She said absent-mindlessly as she worked through the fur.

“Really?” Caduceus mused slowly, “I have used this particular herb for years, for meditation and… sometimes other things. When the world gets to be… too much…” 

“I just figured, since you never drink at the bars or taverns…” 

“Ah.” He chuckled. “That’s because it doesn’t taste good. Why drink something you don’t like?” 

“So it’s not some… cleric thing?”

“No, no. Everything that grows from the soil is a gift, to be used. Just… some gifts are not for us, you know? But this… there’s nothing forbidden that comes from the Wildmother.” 

Beneath the warm water, the dried blood began to dissolve and flake away as Beau gently scrubbed at the thick fur coating his arms, and the velvet covering of his large hands. Slowly, the silk encrusted in it came loose. She worked the fabric free and pulled it down, letting Caduceus’ arm free. “One down, Caddy.” She smirked up at him, and saw him smile back. 

“Much appreciated.” 

Beau laid the stained sleeve over his waist, where the opening of the tunic ended. “Ready for the other one?” 

“Mmm.” Caduceus hummed, “I suppose. Just… be careful.” 

“Is there something wrong with that arm?” She asked as she shifted to the other side. 

Caduceus chuckled. “That uh…. that’s the side I landed on, when I fell. There’s…the shoulder, it hurts a lot.” 

Fjord’s hand unconsciously drifted to the left side of the cleric’s head, fingers ghosting through the matted hair, until they trailed over something wet, and Caduceus hissed. 

“Shhhhh…” Fjord soothed. “I guess that’s where you hit your head, huh? Stay with me, I’m just going to look…” he tilted Caduceus’ head slowly to the light, guiding the firbolg’s muzzle into his thigh. He felt a large wet hand come up to grasp just above his ankle as he parted the faded locks and examined the spot. 

There it was, just behind his ear, a dark bruise, swollen, with a slowly weeping gash that had clotted into the hair around it. He felt around the spot, searching for a break as Caduceus grit his teeth against the pain, but nothing shifted. 

“Need another?” He whispered, and at the small nod in return, Fjord guided the pipe to his friend, letting him take another long draw before feeling the tension abate somewhat from his shoulders. 

Fjord felt Caduceus sigh against his thigh, and felt a small squeeze at his calf: a sign to continue. With one claw, he parted the hair above the gash and flipped it over, holding it in place with his other hand. With another rag, he dabbed at the wound, wiping away the dried and weeping blood to expose the heart of the matter. 

“It is not as bad as it could be.” Fjord said as he wrung out the cloth in the bucket.

Beau sidled up to take a look. “Yeah, looks like you cut yourself on something sharp at the same time as the fall. It’s all over your hair, dude. Do you want us to wash that out?” 

“I would appreciate that.” Caduceus replied softly. 

Fjord reached for a small wash bowl over by the edge of the tub. “I’ll take care of it, Beau. You finish getting that shirt free.” 

The monk nodded and shifted to the side, repeating the same process of working the silk free from where it was blood-matted into the fur. 

Unable to balance a pipe and comb through Caduceus’ blood-matted hair at the same time, Fjord had an idea. 

“Hey Deuces, do you mind if I..?” He stammered awkwardly, “Here, just, breathe in when I tap, okay?” He settled the ivory tip between his teeth and breathed in the herbal smoke, holding it just above the entrance to his own windpipe as he gently tapped at Caduceus’ jaw. When he felt the firbolg begin to inhale, he let the smoke fall from his lips over Caduceus’, and watched as it flowed gently into his own lungs. 

“Is that alright? I can’t hold both…”

“Mmmmhmmm.” Caduceus smiled up at him, cloth still covering his eyes. “Quite alright.”

“Okay just uh…” he flushed, just now realizing exactly how close he had gotten in order to pull that off, suddenly thankful that Caduceus’ all-seeing gaze was covered with the cloth, “Just squeeze if it hurts, or you need another, ok?” Fjord took the wash bowl and dipped it into the warm water, pouring it over Caduceus’ hair in sections to rinse it clean. Undoing each braid, section by section he combed through the long faded strands, working around the gash and parting the finished sections away from it.

He came around to the other side, and gently guided Caduceus’ head to rest against his other thigh, minding the sore spot. There was no resistance from the firbolg under his hands, only… trust? It was… a strange feeling, having such power over someone else who was willingly giving. He poured the water over the short shaven swirls and began working out the dirt and grime with his fingers, until he felt something strange.

A smooth portion of skin, firm and slightly raised. He followed the line of it and found it curving, swirling…

“Deuces, are these scars?” He tapped at the marks.

“Yeaaah,” The firbolg rumbled, speech beginning to slur as the chemicals of the smoke calmed his mind, “You didn’t know?”

“No, I…” Fjord stammered, “I thought you just shaved the swirls in a pattern. Didn’t you say your family didn’t like body modifications?” 

“They don’t.” He chuckled. 

Beau raised her eyebrow at Fjord when Caduceus answered instead of deflecting. Fjord simply shrugged and held up the pipe. 

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?” She asked as she worked at the sleeve, hoping to actually get some information out of their mysterious friend for once. “Mind telling us?” 

“Oh, sure.” Caduceus answered, his words slurring slightly. “Cut my head open pretty bad as a kid, ...climbing over the fence. Knocked my head on the iron. Was running from… bandits, I think? Mom had to shave half my head to stitch it up, since Corrin was out on a quest. She was the family cleric back then…” He smiled softly as Fjord worked a long braid loose and scratched at the scalp where it had been anchored.

“I was so upset about it, losing my long hair. It was still white back then… Calliope shaved swirls into it, to make me feel better while the stitches healed. She’s handy like that. She made my armor, you know? She never wanted to be a paladin, I think she prefers making things…She helped me dye it pink, too. Then it scarred over, and I just… kept having Calliope touch it up.” He shrugged slightly, then winced and relaxed his shoulders back into place. 

He took a moment to breathe, pensive as Fjord tapped at his jaw for another waterfall of calming smoke and poured another bowl of warm water over a freshly-separated section, his hands careful to catch the water and divert the stream away from Caduceus’ face and head wound as it trailed down his skull. 

“Dad helped me, when she left with mom.” He continued, “But then he got a vision, and he was going to leave, and Clarabelle was going with him. Colton and Corrin were already long gone, so I would be by myself, and there would be no one to help, anymore. So Clarabelle and I snuck off, we were always close, the _weird_ siblings. Heh, they thought I was going to be the oddball of the family until Clarabelle came along. I just _look_ weird.” He chuckled, “She took one of her daggers, and we went into the forest, where the family altar is? The one we use for rituals and such…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling and getting away from the point as Fjord’s hand stilled against his scalp. “Sorry, anyway... she traced the swirls for me, so I could keep them while they were gone. I healed it part-way so Dad wouldn’t notice. Now I just shave that side like you would a beard.” 

Fjord traced the marks as he poured another rinse, trying to feel where the scars changed from intentional to organic. “So your parents don’t know about this.” 

“Uh…. no. They don’t. Just Clarabelle. Ah!” He gasped in pain with a sudden flinch. Beau’s hands froze around his shoulder where they were gripping the fabric of his tunic at the seam. 

“Sorry.” Beau said quickly, pausing in her quest to remove his left sleeve. Fjord tapped at his jaw lightly, a question instead of a command, and Caduceus nodded. Soon white smoke was pouring over his throat and the pain dulled as he drifted away from it. 

“Just hold on for a second, I’m almost done.” Beau quickly slid the soaking tunic off his shoulder and down his arm. Caduceus breathed deep and held it as the silk moved away, dark splotches of purple and blue revealed themselves beneath the wet, translucent fur of Caduceus’ arm. They continued all down his side, peppering his ribs where the joints of the armor had dug into them during the fall, and over what bit of hip peeked out from the tunic now pooled over his thighs. 

“Caduceus…” she whispered, voice tinged with worry. 

The cleric lifted the cloth from his eyes to see what Beau was looking at. “Ah…” his lips twisted as he saw the trail of bruising that took up his entire side, “You usually don’t… uh… see anything like that, because of the fur. But uh… when it’s wet…” 

She locked eyes with him, debating whether to question how often he had hidden injuries like this. Then Caduceus’s eyes closed again. Right now he needed to rest, not be interrogated. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to pry _too_ much while he wasn't thinking straight from whatever magical herb he had smoldering in his pipe. Family stories were one thing, deep-seated trauma leading to forms of self-harm was another. There would be time enough another day, when his head was clear. Instead, she used her fingernails to loosen the rest of the grime from his forearm, and mentally catalogued the litany of bruises for later. 

Nearly done with combing out Caduceus’ hair, Fjord began loosely plaiting the long strands over the other side to keep them from falling over the gash. “Your hair is getting lighter, Deuces.” He mused as he twisted another section into place. “You said you dyed it? So the white is how it naturally grows?” 

“Yeah.” He replied tiredly. “Colton used to make fun of me when I was little.” 

“For dying your hair?”

“For being born the wrong color.” 

Beau’s head jerked up. “What the fuck?” 

“I told you I was the odd one out in my family. You’ve met them.” Caduceus explained with a wave of his hand. “Mom and Corrin are mostly the dusty pink color, and Dad is a darker grey. All my siblings are some mix of that. I came out…. really pale. No color. Except here.” He tapped lightly at the corner of one of his eyes. “Tiny, too. Too small, they thought I wouldn’t make it three seasons. But I did. And Colton is an _ass_ , so I started dyeing my hair, you know… to fit in. I like the color.” 

“Dude, are you like, albino or something?” She asked.

Caduceus simply shrugged, minding his shoulder this time. “Something like that. I’m just me.” 

“We are so going to unpack that later. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your ‘ _small house_ ’ comment either, man. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” Beau smirked.

“I really don’t see the point, but alright?” 

Fjord tied off the braid and squeezed the excess water from the strands. “Alright, we’ve got all the blood out at least. You ready for some fresh clothes?” He patted the firbolg’s good shoulder. 

“There’s a long tunic in my pack, for sleeping. Save the trouble of uh…” Caduceus gestured to his injured knee. 

Fjord rustled around and pulled out what looked like a very long cotton shirt, with a wide embroidered neck that buttoned halfway down the front, and long slits on the sides.

Fjord and Beau helped Caduceus back up to the rim of the pool and around to the front. Fjord cast _Control Water_ and extracted the dampness from Caduceus’ fur as well as himself and Beau. The cleric smiled knowingly as Fjord helped him out of the blood-soaked tunic around his waist and into the clean kurta. He kept the front open, and Fjord helped maneuver his left shoulder out of the fabric, giving the long garment a look similar to the long gossamer sleeve he wore with his armor. 

Beau threw her robes back on and stepped into the hall before returning, holding a pile of fresh wrappings and a couple of wooden splints. 

“Alright, down on the floor,” Beau ordered as she kneeled, “Let me see your leg.” 

The cleric leaned on Fjord as he scooted off the ledge and onto the floor, extending the injured leg with a wince. Beau’s hands pressed around the joint, feeling at the shin, the thigh, the calf; measuring by touch the extent of the injury. “Yeah this is sprained, and then it looks like you dislocated it by trying to walk on it. I’m gonna have to set it back.” 

Caduceus nodded, and braced his back against the rim of the stone tub. He winced as Beau slowly jostled the leg to lay straight against the stone and placed one hand below the swollen joint at the top of the shin. Fjord stepped into the tub to hold Caduceus’ shoulders, both as a comfort and a precaution. 

“Okay on three.” She began, “One.. Tw _-click_!”

“ _Faen i helvete_ !” Caduceus cursed in his native language as the bone abruptly slotted back into place. Fjord squeezed his good shoulder as he grit his teeth and breathed through the pain. “That’s why I stitched you up while you were _unconscious_.”

“Holy shit,” Beau chuckled awkwardly, “You never cuss! What even was that? Giant?” 

Caduceus leveled a half-hearted glare in her direction, jaw still clenched. “Jötun.” He hissed. “Or do you prefer to speak _Human_?”

Beau chuckled nervously, “You are _way_ more concussed than I thought, dude. Cadu- _sass_ is up in here. Wait, is Common like… your second language?” She asked, obviously trying to distract him from the pain with conversation.

“Fourth.” he grunted in reply. “Jötun and Espruar first, then Sylvan, for prayers. Common is… for visitors.” 

“I guess that’s why you’re awkward with words sometimes, huh? Things just don’t translate.” 

“ _Det er akkurat det som skjer._ ” he replied with a small smile.

She patted his leg, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. “Take a moment _._ Breathe. When you’re ready, we’ll splint it.” 

Caduceus just nodded, taking measured breaths as Fjord ran his hands over his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort to focus on instead. Another drag on the pipe followed. 

Beau stepped forward to kneel at his left side. “I can take care of this shoulder in the meantime, if you’ll give me a hand, Fjord.” She held up her splinted wrist with a smirk. “I’ll tell you what to do.” She shuffled forward and eased Caduceus’ good arm out of his robe before starting to wrap the long bandage around his chest, over and under the arm, around his sprained shoulder. She guided Fjord’s hands throughout, a word here, press there, hold this, bring that around, until the joint was well compressed and immobilized. She fashioned a quick sling with a piece of cloth and sat back on her heels as Caduceus slipped his other arm back into his sleeve. 

“Not as good as you, Caddy, but pretty good for going old-school.” She smiled as she surveyed her work. 

“I appreciate it nonetheless,” the cleric replied with a wince and a small smile. “Old-school is certainly better than nothing. Spells aren’t everything.” 

There was a certain self-deprecating tone to his voice, and Beau prodded at that.

“Is that how you learned to dress wounds and splint breaks?” She rolled her shoulders and scooted over to his swollen knee. 

“Mhmm.” With his arm now free, he took the pipe from Fjord and raised it to his lips, letting a long draw settle before releasing the smoke. “Before I had my dedication as a cleric, Aunt Corrin was the only one in the family. When she wasn’t home, there weren’t many healing spells to be had. But people still came to the grove. So we learned how to keep them out of a grave as well as how to put them into one.” He let the words flow as Beau wrapped the joint tightly, above and below, crossing over and under. Talking was a good distraction, and for now, he didn’t mind. “It got easier, when Calliope and Colton took their paladin oaths and started learning magic, before they left, of course. By then I could usually take care of myself or anyone else that came through the gates too close to an early grave. Well, mostly.” 

“Mostly?” Fjord inquired as he passed Beau a splint. 

Caduceus’ face twisted, something like shame and grief flitting over his features. “Well, there was one time, just after Dad left. I had tripped over a fresh grave when I was tending the grove alone, and I broke my ankle, so I healed it. I was still new in my practice, so I only had one healing spell that day, and Calliope made me promise I would take care of myself out there alone.” His words were twinged with something unfamiliar, a sense of needing to rationalize his decisions. “But then I had visitors. It was a woman, fresh from a hard labor, and her husband and brother brought her to me as a last resort. She was dying… from the inside….” his breath caught in a muffled sob, “... and I had no spells left. She died that night, while I slept, waiting for me to be able to help her. I buried her that morning. I… I could’ve waited. I had my staff. I could have made it a few days with a broken ankle, I could have… that child would have a mother if I hadn’t been so wasteful.” The last words tasted sour on his tongue, and he snuffed the remains of the smouldering ashes in the cup of the pipe. 

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of Caduceus’ surprising revelation and the implications that came with it settle. Beau patted his shin as she finished tying the wrappings around his leg. 

“I’ll go fetch some blankets, come out when you’re ready, okay?” She said softly. 

Fjord slid down the side of the tub to sit next to him. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Would Caduceus have told them that story, if he hadn’t been exhausted, concussed, and now slightly high? How heavy did the guilt from that encounter weigh upon his choices as an adult? Instead, he cautiously wrapped an arm around Caduceus’ good shoulder and pulled him closer to his own uninjured side, a silent promise that everything would be alright. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Caduceus didn’t pull away.

“Do you uh…” Fjord said quietly, “If you ever need to talk, about… about stuff like that. You know we’re here for you, right? You’re… you don’t have to be the… the _strong_ one all the time, Caduceus. We… _I_ care about you.” 

The cleric in his arms chuckled lowly in response, turning his deep pink eyes to look at Fjord briefly before flitting to the ground. He tilted his head to rest on Fjord’s, and the half-orc let him. “I am… not used to having anyone else to lean on, not anymore. It’s… uuh… it’s a hard habit to break.”

“But you’ll try?” Fjord whispered.

“I’ll certainly try.”

\-----------

They managed to hobble back into the entryway, Caduceus leaning on Fjord’s shoulder like a living crutch as he kept his weight completely off of his bad leg. Beau had already pulled every throw pillow, blanket, coverlet, and cushion from the first floor over to where Caleb sat with the three sleeping ladies. 

“That’s quite the nest…” Caduceus rumbled upon seeing the pile of soft things.

Caleb nodded where he sat watching his unconscious friends, Frumpkin purring in his lap. “Beau is dragging the mattress from the guest room as we speak. She, ehh… figured it would be a losing battle to try and convince you into a bed, let alone your tower.” 

“Hmmmf.” The cleric grunted in amusement as Fjord helped him reach the conglomeration of bodies, waking and not, in the center of the rug. “Quite right. I don’t think I’ll be climbing any stairs or ladders tonight.” 

Fjord huffed, “I think she meant we wouldn’t be able to pull you away from keeping an eye on everyone no matter how hard we tried.” 

“Ahhhhh..” Caduceus drawled as he made himself comfortable. “No, no you wouldn’t.” 

A shuffling noise from behind them sounded Beau’s return, dragging the mattress one-handed from the nearby guest room. “You’re going to lay down,” she said with a pointed look at their resident Firbolg as she adjusted the pile of pillows around the mattress, “And you’re going to go to _sleep_ . Caleb and I will keep watch for any changes, and if we need your help, we will wake you up. But you are going to _stop_ worrying, because everyone is _fine_ , and you’re going to _rest_ , damn it.” 

Seeing the determined looks on his friends’ faces, Caduceus sighed in defeat and shuffled onto the mattress where Beau was so adamantly pointing. Without a bedframe in the way, he was actually able to stretch out fully, even if his calves were on a small pile of pillows instead. As if sensing his trepidation, Caleb gently cradled Jester’s head to lift her and set her carefully on the mattress next to her fellow cleric, where Caduceus could easily reach if, gods forbid, something went wrong in what remained of the night. Beau busied herself tucking pillows under Yasha and Veth, while Caleb got comfortable on the other side and Fjord settled in at the head of the mattress, pulling Caduceus’ head slowly into his lap to resume his ministrations against his scalp. 

Caduceus hummed in contentment as he turned his face into Fjord’s hip, the soothing feeling a welcome distraction from the quickly-returning ache behind his eyes. 

“How are you doing?” Fjord whispered, carding his claws through his fading pink hair. “Does this still help? Do you want me to stop? Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

“Mmm, it still helps.” Caduceus' ear flicked as he grimaced slightly. “I’m not sure,” he sighed, “I’m certainly tired enough but…”

“Too dizzy and nauseous?” Fjord prompted, and Caduceus nodded faintly with a deep hum. “Concussions are awful. But you’ll need rest to heal from it, I think…” He looked to Caleb. “Do healing spells work on concussions?” He asked.

Caleb grumbled from his spot in the pillow-nest. “Eh, _nein_.” He mumbled. “Greater restoration works, or something more powerful, but most healing spells and potions do not do much. You simply have to … eh… wait it out.” 

“Damn,” the paladin cursed softly. “There goes my idea of healing you in the morning, Cad.”

“Guess you’ll just have to take care of the others,” he replied with a smile.

Caleb hummed in thought, “Hopefully Jester’s concussion isn’t as bad, or maybe Essek knows a Cleric of the Luxon we could call? But how would we get the message to him…” He trailed off, running scenarios through his head, no doubt he would have some sort of plan by morning.

Fjord rolled his eyes and ghosted his hand over Caduceus’ soft ear, petting it back against his head. “For tonight, do you have anything that will help you sleep? For the pain? Something stronger than what you use to meditate, maybe?”

The firbolg breathed deeply, letting his eyes flutter open. “I do, but…” he trailed, weighing the risks and benefits, until Fjord’s raised eyebrow prompted him to continue. “It’s… it’s very strong. I wouldn’t be much use if…”

“Caduceus.” He interrupted, his tone stern. “Do you trust us?”

There was so much more behind that simple question, and Caduceus could sense what went unsaid. It was a plea for him to let go of his burdens, to forgive himself for his own perceived failings, to let someone else take control of whatever was worrying him, to have _faith._

He sighed once more, with a smile this time, and asked for his satchel and a cup for tea. Beauregard fetched his things, and Caleb heated the water until it was steaming as Fjord helped Caduceus sit up against his shoulder. 

“Don’t ever try this without my supervision,” he said as he pulled a small bundle of leaves from his pouch and unwrapped it to reveal a small clump of dark, sticky brown seeds pressed into a cake. “It’s uh… very potent, and if you accidentally take too much, it can… it would be very bad. I know exactly how much to use, for my own body, but uhhh…. I’m a fair bit larger than all of you. So…”

“What is it?” Beau whispered, leaning forward to watch her friend break off a piece of the clump, gently roll it between his fingers, and drop it into the steaming cup.

“It’s uhh…. Poppy seeds, roasted dirty. It’s… it’s good for pain, and sleep, but it’s _very_ strong. I’ll be out for a good few hours, at least. I trust you all will be fine without me?” He leveled them all with his piercing gaze, knowing the intent of his question was clear to them. 

One by one, they nodded. Satisfied, Caduceus tipped the cup to his lips and drained the now-dark liquid. With barely a moment to spare to set the cup safely down, his muscles relaxed and he fell heavily against Fjord. The half-orc guided him back down to rest against his thigh, and in that space of time Caduceus was already unconscious, breathing slowly and deeply, laying completely limp on his lap. 

Beau shuffled forward and pressed a worried hand against his throat. His pulse was slow, but strong and steady. “Shit…” she murmured. “That _is_ some strong stuff. You’ll keep an eye on him, too, right?” 

The heavy presence of worry they shared for their cleric friend went unsaid. They both knew that Caduceus must have been much more uncomfortable than he let on to go for something so strong as soon as he was given permission to do so, whether that be by circumstance or their own insistence.

Fjord nodded. “Of course.” 

He stayed up to watch, listening carefully to the slow breathing of his friends around him as the night wore on, and in the darkness, his hand found Caduceus’. 

\-------------

**Author's Note:**

> Jotun Translations:  
>  _Det er akkurat det som skjer-_ that is exactly what happens  
>  _Faen i Helvete-_ Fuck in Hell  
>  _Fy Faen-_ Damn it
> 
> Concussion symptoms based upon my own experience cracking my skull from a fall last year. 
> 
> There is a plan for a second chapter, once I find the motivation to write the second half of this story and depending on how it is received. :)


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